


Substitution

by imitateslife



Category: Victor Frankenstein (2015)
Genre: Enemies With Benefits, Finnestein, Jealousy, M/M, Regret, Romantic Friendship, Unrequited Love, igorstein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6777505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor can pretend he's happy at the Castle Erskine as long as he keeps his mind and body occupied. But in the quiet lull before dawn, all he can think of are his last words to Igor... Even with Finnegan asleep in his bed. Finnestein. Unrequited Igorstein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Substitution

Victor rose from the bed silently in the midnight blue of early morning. The Castle Erskine was always quietest before dawn. It seemed to be the only time Victor could get a thought in sideways that didn’t have to do with Finnegan’s project or Finnegan himself. He made his way to the liquor cabinet, but as Victor poured himself a glass of whisky, he looked at the sleeping form he’d left behind. Finnegan. The man had consumed his mind by day with this project… with this Prometheus. And he made use of Victor’s body in the night, when they shoved each other against walls and trailed bruising kisses over each other’s bodies. Finnegan was a demanding, whimpering lover. But Victor… Victor was insatiable; hungry for something Finnegan could never give him, even if he consented to try. In the small hours before sunrise, Finnegan was not the one consuming Victor’s mind. He wasn’t thinking of monsters or medicine. He was instead thinking of a man. He instead thought of Igor. Igor with his perfect, surgeon’s hands. Igor with his brilliant smile and innocent blue eyes that had always looked at Victor as if Igor believed in him. Until of course the day they parted.

_I created you._

He was no God, looking upon Adam in divine triumph. He was Pygmalion, in love with something he’d carved and molded. And like Pygmalion, Victor knew his Galatea – his Igor – would remain unmoved by his longing. There was no divine intervention that would make Igor love him… and if there was, Victor was beyond hope of having his prayers heard. He always had been.

_See how far you get with your acrobat and your morals and your new life._

Victor should have known from the start that Igor would not love him back. His heart belonged to another to that damned acrobat. To Lorelei. _The fallen angel._ And that knowledge burned. It made Victor ache with jealousy unlike any he’d ever known. He didn’t care that she was superstitious or uneducated; he cared that she, unworthy thing, was the one Igor craved above all others. It didn’t matter what Victor had done for him; Igor had loved Lorelei longer and would love her always, leaving Victor quite alone with these feelings. I’m done with you. Victor drained the contents of his glass quickly and stared out the window. Cold fingers found his bared arms and he jolted in surprise.

“Awake already?” Finnegan drawled in Victor’s ear. “You know; I’m beginning to think you never tire…”

Victor laughed and set down the glass. He couldn’t conceal the disgust upon his face for a long moment before he turned around to face his benefactor… his accidental lover. For the fleetest of moments, he could pretend that Finnegan’s blue eyes were Igor’s. That his grasping hands were Igor’s. That his lips as Victor clashed against him with fierce and desperate lust were Igor’s.

“I could be… persuaded to come back to bed,” Victor said, breaking away. “If you made it worth my while.”

Finnegan chuckled and the illusion was gone. This was not Igor. This would never be Igor. This would never be love or even proper lust. It was a dangerous business transaction between ruthless men. The gleam in Finnegan’s eyes may have held desire, but there was something more terrifying there. Control. Victor could drive as hard a bargain as he wanted but at the end of the day, Finnegan owned him. And worst of all, Victor didn’t care. Finnegan could have his mind. He could have his plans for the Prometheus. He could even have his body on nights like these when the both craved some kind of release. But Victor’s heart – no, that wasn’t right – Victor’s soul, if indeed there was such a thing, belonged to another. So perhaps that was why Finnegan, fatigued from exertion twenty minutes later, didn’t protest when Victor murmured two syllables as he reached his own, gratifying peak.

“Igor…”

Perhaps Finnegan didn’t care for souls. Maybe he didn’t believe in them – Victor wasn’t sure that he did either. Or maybe Finnegan just didn’t _want_ Victor’s soul. He had everything else he could possibly desire. Victor was building him a man… an army. Victor was indebted to him… enslaved by him. Why would Finnegan give a damn about Victor’s affections when he had everything he needed already? Feelings, messy things, complicated otherwise perfect business transactions. And that’s all this was. All any of this was. Business. Even the sex was business. A demonstration of loyalty… of Victor’s ability to follow orders. Victor rolled onto his side, pulling out of Finnegan, who was murmuring in his half-asleep state things like “Brilliant… Good man… Bloody brilliant…”, and looked at the sun rising over the tumultuous sea. He wondered if somewhere outside of London, Igor was sleeping beside Lorelei, blissfully oblivious to the remorse Victor felt for their parting. But… he dared to hope that somewhere outside of London, Igor was awake beside his acrobat, watching the sun rise and murmuring his name softly.

“Victor.”

For a moment, he thought he imagined Igor’s voice. But then he realized that the only thing he’d heard was Finnegan sighing in his sleep before wrapping himself around a pillow and holding it tightly. Victor laughed softly, sadly, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and crushing his face in his palms. Morning had come and he had work to do. He rose and dressed for the day and didn’t spare a second glance at the bed he left behind. He couldn’t. Not with the knowledge that when he looked, he would only be disappointed by who was not there and who, instead, was. He had a man to build… One that would hopefully never drive him into the arms of another. This time, when he created in his own image, Victor would not let himself be broken. No one would ever have that power again. Not Igor, not Finnegan, and certainly not a stitched together creature of his own design. He was broken already. There was nothing left to break.


End file.
